


Golden Morning

by thebermuda



Series: The Boarding School AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, Golden shower, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebermuda/pseuds/thebermuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian's roommate still pisses the bed, but Sebastian doesn't think this is anything to be embarrassed about. After all, he's been dreaming of being pissed <i>on.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Morning

As soon as Sebastian entered the dorm he shared with Jim, an acrid odor wafted over him. He covered his nose with his sleeve, but not before his mind took the smell and assigned a name to it: Ammonia. 

Next he processed the sight of Jim still in bed on his top bunk, even though Sebastian had already had his first morning class. The bugger wasn’t sleeping, but frantically pulling at his sheets like something mad. And of course he was mad. Or so all the Etonian boys said. 

“What’s the matter, Jimmikins?” Sebastian said. The nickname used to be a taunt for him, but it had become more of a habit ever since the Irish exchange student was made his roommate. “Find a wrinkle in your sheet? A thread come loose?” 

Probably Jim was going to burn his sheets over some minor flaw he’d perceived in them during his morning examination. The bugger was positively OCD – a complete neat freak. It drove Sebastian mad, although he supposed he was used to it. His father was just the same. 

Jim gave such a start that it was obvious he hadn’t heard Sebastian come in. Sebastian waited for one of Jimmikins’s usual responses – a snarl, or a book thrown at him from the top-bunk-to-floor trajectory that Jim had mastered over the last semester. 

Instead, Jim’s eyes grew wide, a deer caught in headlights. Or a murderer caught hunched over a bloodied corpse – that seemed more like Jim. Then he blurted: “Get out.” 

“What for?” Sebastian asked, plopping into an armchair on the other side of the room. “I mean, I might. It bloody _reeks_ in here – ” 

“Get out. I need to study,” Jim said. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re studying. Looks like you’re tearing your claws into those – ” Sebastian spotted a heap on the floor, beside their bunk bed. Jim’s duvet. 

Oh. 

“You pissed yourself.” Sebastian blurted it out, then grinned. “Holy shit,” he said, observing the way Jim’s face grew a horrible, beet red. “You did. You fucking pissed your bed.” 

Before he could wait for Jim to respond, Sebastian burst into laughter. He clutched his chest, unable to contain himself. It was so far off from the image Jim tried to present to everyone – the quiet, condescending know-it-all who managed to be better than everyone else despite being Irish and solidly middle-class. And yet this seemed like such a middle-class problem to Sebastian. If _Sebastian_ had had this kind of problem, his father would have beaten it out of him years ago. But he could imagine Jim’s Irish mammy now, coddling him like a toddler. 

It was too much. 

“Stop it,” Jim growled. 

Sebastian was gasping by now; he truly couldn’t stop. 

“I said stop it!” Jim picked up his bunched-up sheets and threw them at Sebastian. They unraveled in the air, making the short distance between the bunk bed and the opposite wall, and fell over him. 

He was cloaked in the scent of ammonia and a warm dampness. 

He scrambled, trying to toss the sheet off of himself without feeling the wetness on his hands. He failed and, once the sheet was thrown onto the ground, he got up, rubbing his hands against his trousers. 

“That’s fucking gross, Jimmikins,” Sebastian said. 

Jim was still beet red. He climbed off the top bunk and landed on the ground. Despite being bare-footed, he made his way to the door as if to leave. 

Sebastian sat up and grabbed at his wrist. Jim yanked, trying to pull away. Sebastian knew that Jim hated the way Sebastian was stronger than him, could overpower him no matter how smart he was. 

“Where are you going?” Sebastian said. 

“To study,” Jim said lowly. 

He really was embarrassed, which Sebastian thought was kind of cute. He’d never seen anyone get so red before, and Sebastian liked the way Jim – usually so obnoxiously upfront – couldn’t meet his gaze. 

“Liar. You don’t even have your socks and shoes on. Where are you really going?” Sebastian asked. 

“Let go of me.” Jim tried to snatch his wrist away again and failed. 

“Tell me where you’re going,” Sebastian said. 

“Let go of me!” Jim tried yanking with all of his body weight, but – well, really, what was all of the freshman shrimp’s body weight to the upperclass captain of the rugby team? 

Sebastian smiled, sensing an opportunity. As Jim struggled, Sebastian pulled in the opposite direction, sitting back in his chair. Jim fell gracelessly in Sebastian’s lap, a red-faced heap. 

“Where’re you going, Jimmikins?” Sebastian taunted. With one hand he pulled Jim’s wrist behind his back and captured Jim’s other wrist in the same hand. 

He yanked Jim’s arms up, exposing his underarms, and began to tickle at one of them with his free hand. Jim shrieked and squirmed, but it didn’t matter. Class was in session for most of the boys on this floor. No one was going to hear him through the walls. 

“Stop – it – ” Jim managed between gasps. His eyes were smarting from Sebastian’s light touches. 

“I said, ‘Where’re you going?’” Sebastian asked, laughing the more Jim struggled, tickling harder. “Tell me and I’ll stop.” Sebastian wrapped his arm to the front, pulling up Jim’s shirt so that he could tickle Jim’s tummy. Jim leaned away from his hand, pressing against Sebastian’s chest. “Or maybe,” Sebastian said, as if considering something, “I won’t stop. I’ll just keep tickling you ’til you piss yourself again. Right into my lap. What do think of that, Jimmikins? Think I can make you pee on me?” 

Sebastian’s laughter stopped when Jim’s only response was a gasp. Not for breath, but a gasp like a sobbing-gasp. And sure enough, even as Sebastian’s tickling slowed, Jim’s shoulders shook against Sebastian with the force of Jim’s shaky breath. 

Jim was crying. 

Not tearing up from Sebastian’s roughhousing. Actually _crying._

“Hey… Stop that,” Sebastian said softly, tickling hand falling to the side. “Jimmik – Jim, hey. Stop it. I’ve stopped tickling, see? I’m done. It’s over. Stop crying.” 

Although Sebastian couldn’t see Jim’s face, he saw the back of Jim’s head. Jim was shaking his head. 

“L-l-let me – let me g-go,” Jim said between heaving gasps. 

Sebastian’s hand was so light around Jim’s wrist now that Jim could easily pull away, but he didn’t. It was like all the fight had suddenly left him, and there wasn’t any fun in that. 

Sebastian removed his hand from Jims’. As soon as he did, Jim launched away from him. Sebastian thought he would leave the room, but instead Jim did something strange. 

There was a wardrobe in their dorm, which they shared, and as soon as Jim was free he ran to it. He opened one of the doors and went inside it, pushing aside their low-hanging uniforms. Sebastian saw him situate himself on the wardrobe’s floor, knees to his chin, before he pulled the door shut. 

It seemed such a weird thing to do, but it left a heavy pit in Sebastian’s gut. Sebastian couldn’t be sure, of course – he hardly knew a thing about the Irish bugger, after all – but it seemed suddenly that Jim might have the same associations with wardrobes as he did. There was no logical reason for Jim to seek refuge in a wardrobe. Sebastian could very easily open the doors and pull him out. But Sebastian knew, even as a nearly-grown man, that he associated wardrobes with safety. Hadn’t crawled into one in years, of course. Probably wouldn’t even fit, now. But they were handy things. A drunkard never thought to look in a wardrobe, it seemed. Certainly couldn’t see a child hunched beneath piles of old clothes, not through their blurred vision. Yes. A wardrobe was a very safe place to be. 

Jim’s crying had made a funny situation tense, but this changed things entirely. 

Sebastian got up, approached the wardrobe slowly, as if afraid his loud footsteps might scare Jim. 

He crouched in front of the doors and said, “Hey, Jim.” He stopped. He wasn’t sure what else to say. The room still reeked, although his nose was mostly desensitized. Should he stay here, and try to coax Jim out? Stay here and leave Jim alone? Do Jim’s laundry? 

“If I can…do something,” he finished lamely. 

He heard a sniffle, and thought Jim wouldn’t respond, but then came his muffled voice: “I want my socks and shoes.” 

“Alright,” Sebastian said. “I’ll get your socks and shoes.” Although already he was panicking, because he was looking around and couldn’t find them, and suddenly it seemed very important that he be able to provide Jim with his socks and shoes, at least. 

Jim spoke again, his tears evidently having calmed down a bit. “I…” He sniffed. “I was going to talk to the housemaster. I _am_ going to talk to the housemaster. I’m getting a single room.” 

Sebastian’s heart sank. As much as he made rooming with Jim seem like a chore to his friends, and made fun of Jim with every insult he could think of, Sebastian didn’t like the thought of him leaving. He picked on Jim, but Jim was just as awful. Calling him stupid all of the time. Going through his backpack to find his homework and pick it apart, dissect it for all its imperfections. Going to his rugby games to sit on the sidelines and _boo_ at Sebastian. Always doing his best to make sure that, after the games, the teachers watched Sebastian before he could sneak off to the woods with a girl. Hell, he hadn’t been laid once all semester, and that was entirely Jim’s fault. 

So it wasn’t like Sebastian was the only one who made a shitty roommate. 

And Sebastian, for some ridiculous reason, didn’t want Jim to leave. 

“They won’t give you a single room,” Sebastian said automatically. “You’re a freshman, they never give fresh – ” 

“Stay out of it!” Jim kicked at the wardrobe door. Sebastian heard him sob again. “Just stay the fuck away from me.” 

Sebastian was surprised to hear him curse. He’d never done that before. And moreover, Jim’s brogue was coming out. Jim always sounded different, never had Sebastian’s received pronunciation, but he hadn’t realized that Jim was significantly diminishing his own accent. Now it came out, a full-force lilt. 

“I _will_ get a single room. I’ll tell the housemaster about how I – how I wet the bed, like a little boy, and I can’t have anyone staying with me. And when I tell the housemaster he’ll tell some teachers, and some teachers will tell some students, and everyone will fucking _know._ So that should make you happy. You’ll be free of me and you won’t even have to go through the trouble of telling the school about how I’m such a fucking little kid. Although, of course, if you want a head start, you can go tell someone right now. Sure you’ll like that. My life will be even more of a living hell than it already is. Do you like that?” There was a pause, and a sniff. Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. 

“I don’t care,” Jim continued. He repeated it, like a mantra: “I don’t care. I’ll be alone soon. I don’t care.” 

Sebastian couldn’t take it. He swung open the wardrobe door. 

“You can’t leave,” he said. Jim’s eyes were blotchy, and Sebastian thought for a moment that Jim was going to kick him. 

“You can’t keep me locked in here forever,” Jim retorted. 

“No – no, I mean…” Sebastian sighed. He was terrible at this. “I mean you shouldn’t leave, because I’m not going to tell anyone. I was never going to tell anyone.” 

“You’re lying,” Jim said through gritted teeth. “You are.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Then you’ll hold it over me for the rest of our school years. I’d rather let everyone know and have it over with. You can’t blackmail me, Moran.” 

Sebastian always felt a pleasant shiver when Jim said his name. He said, “I’m not going to do that. I swear. We’ll never mention this again.” 

“I’m not stupid,” Jim said. 

“I know you’re not,” Sebastian blurted. Jim blinked, as if surprised by the sincerity in Sebastian’s voice. 

Then Sebastian saw more clearly: Crouched in a wardrobe was a younger, bullied boy who had just had his most mortifying secret revealed to his older bully of a roommate. And to top it off he’d been thoroughly defeated in a tickle attack. 

That was as low as things got, really. 

Jim wanted to leave because he was utterly humiliated. Sebastian had given him a rough time for ages, but Jim had always returned it. They made each other’s lives difficult in equal turns. Now, suddenly, Sebastian had the definite upper hand. 

So for Jim to stay, Sebastian just had to change that. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Sebastian said slowly, “because if I do, then you can tell the school something about me. Something just as bad. And we’ll be even. But since obviously I wouldn’t want you to do that, I won’t tell anyone anything in the first place.” 

“Oh, good idea,” Jim said, brightly sarcastic. “I’ll tell the whole school everything I know about you.” He pretended to consider, then held up a finger. “Firstly, you’re loads better than everyone at rugby.” A second finger. “Loads better-looking, too.” A third finger. “You get higher test grades than everyone else – besides me, of course. And hmm… Oh, I know! I’ll tell them all about the time you won in a fight against seven other boys. Or maybe the night you laid three girls at the same time – triplets, were they? Oh, no, I’m sorry.” Jim frowned phonily. “Did you mean I should tell them something embarrassing about you? Hm… That doesn’t leave much. I could tell them that even though we’re all studying Homer now, you had the _Odyssey_ memorized by the time you were eight. That’s pretty shaming, for your type. Should I tell them that you’re champion-level at chess? Hm. Maybe not. You know, nerdy as that may be, some boys actually go for the nerd types – ” 

“Shut up,” Sebastian growled. “I didn’t mean something you already know, idiot. I meant that I’ll tell you something. Something really embarrassing. So that we’re even.” 

Jim crossed his arms. Sebastian stared at him. 

“Well?” Jim said. “I’m waiting.” 

His anger had apparently replaced any abject helplessness, and as a result his voice had taken on its usual bossy tone. It was impossible to remember what it even sounded like when he cried. 

Sebastian could feign annoyance at this, but he was glad to see that things were getting back to normal. Maybe there was an actual chance that Jim wouldn’t leave now.

Sebastian tried to think of a mortifying secret. Several came to him immediately, but he couldn’t tell Jim anything involving his father. Nothing that could possibly risk Ambassador Moran’s precious government position could leave Sebastian’s lips, of course. Not if Sebastian felt like living. 

A sudden thought came to Sebastian. He swallowed it back, blushing immediately. No. He definitely couldn’t tell Jim that. 

But maybe a watered-down version of it would be enough. 

“I wank,” Sebastian said. 

There was silence. 

Then Jim, in deadpan: “Just like everyone else in the world.” He feigned a yawn. “Boorrring. And besides, Moran. You think I can’t hear you at night? Your hitched breaths and stifled moans aren’t terribly clandestine, you know.” 

Jim’s tone was snappish, but for some reason when he said it his cheeks got faintly pink. 

“It’s what I think about,” Sebastian said. “Not everyone in the world thinks about the same things as me.” 

“Well?” Jim said, cocking an eyebrow. “What is it? Our maid? Your best friend’s sister? Your best friend’s _mum?_ Do impress me, Moran.” 

Sebastian clenched his fist. 

“You,” he said. “I think about you.” 

Suddenly the room was so hot he felt like he was on fire. He wanted to open the window. Get away from Jim. He was so hot he was going to die. 

But Jim seemed to have barely heard. 

“I don’t believe you,” he said simply, brushing it off. “And if I don’t, then neither will anyone else. Some juicy confession isn’t good enough, Moran, come on. I need something solid, something that’ll hold up as a weapon if you tell anyone my secret. I want pictures, a video, _proof.”_

Despite the overwhelming shame that had flooded him – or more likely because of it – Sebastian suddenly resented the fact that Jim didn’t believe him. Needed to make him believe. 

“You’re the only thing I ever think about,” Sebastian said. “Nearly anything you do can get me going, really. Watching you read a book. Watching you look out the window at night, gazing at the stars. Hell, I like it when you tell me how shit I am at rugby. I like that even though you come to _boo_ me, you still haven’t missed one of my games. When I’m on the field, I’m playing for you. Do you know that? I want you to be watching. I want to impress you. A few months back, when you never shut up about how I failed my Catullus exam – I failed it on purpose. I heard you boasting to someone about how you were skipping freshman Latin and going straight into Catullus your second semester. I figured it’d be the only class we could have together, if I could just fail and retake it. Do you know how hard my father beat me over Christmas break, because of that? I can show you.” Sebastian made a quick job of loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off. He turned around so that Jim could see the lashes still pink across his back. 

Jim seemed about to say something, but Sebastian wasn’t through. The bugger had no right to accuse Sebastian of lying. 

“And do you know what I immediately thought of when I realized you pissed your bed? It was barely a conscious thought,” Sebastian said, turning back around. “It was just like jotting a note onto a calendar. I planned to wank off to that, tonight. Most nights I can wank off to the sound of your breathing. But I have problems, see. I’m sick. When I think of things like that – piss, you pissing, pissing on _me,_ sick, twisted shit like that – it gets me off. I roughhouse you because I like when you hurt me back. Pull my hair. Slap me around. I actually get off on that. That’s fucking disgusting, isn’t it? Like I said, I have problems. I think it’s because my father beats me – ” 

“Stop.” 

Sebastian stopped talking. 

He wanted to add, _If you want a single room now, I won’t stop you,_ but he didn’t say anything. 

“I don’t believe you,” Jim said again. Incredulously. Infuriatingly. Sebastian opened his mouth to retaliate, but Jim interrupted: “You have to prove it to me. Proof, Moran. I want proof. I turn you on? Show me.” 

Sebastian caught the twinkle in Jim’s eye, and understood. Jim knew Sebastian was telling the truth. All of this would be way too out-of-the-blue to be anything other than entirely honest. He was playing with Sebastian. 

And as Sebastian had just revealed, he liked being played with. 

“How can I show you?” Sebastian asked. Willing to do anything, suddenly, that Jim asked. 

Even though he didn’t trust the glint in Jim’s eyes. That was the glint that came right before Jim did something crazy. 

Jim finally got out of the wardrobe, pushing himself up off the floor. He stood over Sebastian, who was still kneeling. 

Jim lifted his bare foot and pushed Sebastian’s chin up with it. Sebastian looked Jim in the eyes, feeling oddly vulnerable. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. 

“I want,” Jim said. He stopped then, as if that were a complete sentence. As if all the things he wanted in the world were too innumerable to name, and so the two words simply had to bear the heaviness of those unlisted things. 

“I want to relieve myself on you,” Jim said. “And we can see if it really gets you off.” 

Jim said this as if he were proposing an experiment to prove a hypothesis. But the hypothesis was already proven, at least for Sebastian, by how his cock twitched at Jim’s words. 

“Deal,” he said, as if unfazed. But his heart pounded. He could feel that they were both on the edge of something thus far unexplored, unspoken of. And he could tell that Jim felt the same way. But neither of them said this aloud. 

“Go. To the shower. Take off the rest of your clothes first.” 

Jim, that mad Irish bastard, crossed the room and took a seat on his bed. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at Sebastian, as if daring him to begin. 

Sebastian undressed silently, too used to locker room comments and playful spanks to be fazed by Jim’s gaze. He didn’t look at Jim, though, so he wasn’t sure how Jim was reacting. He kept his eyes down, which made him all too aware of his half-hard cock. 

His heart was pounding in his eardrums so loudly that he wasn’t certain he’d hear Jim if Jim spoke. Without a word, then, he left for the bathroom, feeling Jim’s eyes on his bum as he entered the smaller room. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to, but he closed the bathroom door, leaving it unlocked. He needed a moment. 

He got into the shower. Was he supposed to crouch down? Lay down? Stay standing? He wasn’t sure. Should he turn on the shower? That seemed to rather detract from the appeal of being pissed on – the whole point was to feel Jim’s piss actually _on_ him, not to see it wash down the drain. But, once again, he wasn’t sure. Too many decisions. 

Luckily someone was here to make them for him. 

“Down on your knees,” Jim said. Sebastian hadn’t even heard him come in. 

He went to his knees immediately. 

Jim had not only not gotten undressed, but for some reason he’d put his socks and shoes on. He didn’t go to unzip himself, but instead reached out to Sebastian. His fingers, cold, stroked down Sebastian’s cheek. Jim’s index finger rested on the corner of Sebastian’s lips. His breath hitched as Jim’s single finger traced, Sebastian’s sensitive lips tingling with excited, electrified nerves. 

“You’ve really surprised me,” Jim said. 

His voice sounded more animated than Sebastian had ever heard it. There was no weariness or boredom. He seemed… _interested._ In _Sebastian._

“I usually know what everyone is thinking and how they feel, but I never guessed you like me,” Jim said. His Irish accent – an accent Sebastian had been raised to find distasteful – sent chills up Sebastian’s spine. Jim’s words curved and elongated in special, unexpected places. Or maybe that wasn’t his accent. Maybe that was just Jim. 

“Don’t look at my cock,” Jim abruptly ordered. Sebastian wasn’t sure why, but he only wanted to gaze up at Jim’s face, anyway. He saw Jim’s arms move, heard a zipper unzipping, and knew Jim was exposed. But he stared determinedly up, basking in the cool, controlled look Jim fixed upon him. 

There were a few seconds of silence, and then Sebastian felt a stream of piss jet onto his chest. It wavered at first, but then it was steady. Hotter than he’d expected. 

Fuck. He looked down. He caught a glimpse of Jim, but not enough to register anything, and then his eyes were on his own chest, splashed with urine. 

Jim redirected his flow, aiming downwards. When his piss hit Sebastian’s cock, Sebastian moaned. 

He quickly smacked his hand over his lips, but he couldn’t stop his cock from standing at full attention. 

“Look at that…” Jim murmured lowly. He reached forward with a free hand and locked his fingers into Sebastian’s hair. He pulled firmly. 

Sebastian had to close his eyes. This whole fucking situation was too hot, too surreal, and he was going to come if he looked up at Jim. Fuck, fuck. He couldn’t believe Jim would do something like this. That anyone else could like this sick kind of shit, the kind of shit he dreamed of day after day. 

The stream stopped. Sebastian looked again, dropping his hand from his mouth. Jim must have rushed to cover himself, because by the time Sebastian opened his eyes Jim had already zippered himself up again. 

“You’re hard.” In his thick, Irish brogue, Jim mused, “It’s big. Thick.” For being younger than Sebastian, his voice was quite deep. He spoke slowly, in a deliberate manner, and Sebastian was positive that Jim’s pronounced _ck_ sound at the end of ‘thick’ had been intended to go straight to Sebastian’s cock. 

“I was expecting that. For you to be proportional, of course,” Jim continued. “But I’m not disappointed. Not at all…” His voice trailed off into a kind of formless growl. Sebastian bit his lip, exerting all of his control not to whimper. Fuck. How did Jim growl like that, so low in his throat? 

“How big is it?” Jim asked. He stuck his foot forward and stroked along its length with the leather toe of his shoe. 

He laughed when Sebastian readily supplied his exact measurements. 

“Your cock makes you feel like a man,” Jim said. “How would you feel if I made you helplessly come with just the toe of my shoe?” 

Sebastian breathed, “Amazing, Jim.” 

Jim’s eyes flashed with surprise and he chuckled. Sebastian received another delighted shock from the sound of Jim’s laughter, adding to the hard feel of his shoe, stroking up and down his cock. The piss was drying on his skin now, and he could smell it, but he didn’t mind. 

He hissed. Fuck, fuck, that felt good. 

“Does it?” Jim said, pulling harder at Sebastian’s hair. He hadn’t realized he’d been speaking aloud. “Open your eyes.” 

Sebastian opened his eyes. The downward sight that greeted him was of Jim’s shoe on his cock. 

That did it. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, arm swinging out to hit the shower wall as he came. His come shot out, hitting Jim’s trousers and the shower floor. 

“Fuuuuck,” he moaned, leaning his head back against the shower wall. Jim didn’t move his arm, so his grip on Sebastian’s hair tightened. 

It took Sebastian a moment to compose himself enough to look up again. 

Jim eyes were blazing, calculating. Usually he wore a cold, robotic expression when he went all observational and analytical. But right now he looked fiery, as if determined to take note of every interesting behavior of the examined species before him. 

Sebastian did, indeed, feel like a part of a scientist’s experiment. But going by Jim’s look, the experiment had went well. 

Sebastian grinned. 

Jim let go of Sebastian’s hair, which seemed to signify the end of something. Sebastian wasn’t sure what. He did, however, now feel that it would be alright for him to speak in full sentences. 

“Hypothesis proven?” he asked. 

“Thoroughly,” Jim answered, still looking down at him. Sebastian could tell Jim’s thoughts were racing; he wanted to have some idea of what those thoughts were, but doubted he’d understand even a quarter of them. He wished he could think of interesting things to say, to keep Jim’s attention for even a few more seconds. Jim had never paid attention to him for this long before. 

It was Jim who spoke next. 

“Can I make you lick the come off my trousers?” he asked. 

“Of course,” Sebastian said, surprised Jim would phrase it as a question. If he thought there was a chance that Sebastian wouldn’t do it, then he clearly had no idea how much Sebastian liked this. All of this. All Jim wanted. 

Sebastian could feel Jim watching silently as Sebastian went to lick the come from his clothed legs, around his ankles. He had to get on all fours to do this comfortably, but there wasn’t too much come. He didn’t particularly like the taste or feel of his own come in his mouth, but he found that there was something erotic about the texture of Jim’s trousers brushing against his tongue. They were _Jim’s_ trousers. 

Jim watched until Sebastian was finished. Once he was done, Jim wordlessly turned to leave the bathroom.

Sebastian was certain he’d lost Jim’s interest. He swallowed down the disappointment, because he needed to ask Jim something before Jim shut him out completely. 

“Can I wash myself off?” Sebastian called out, hoping desperately that Jim wouldn’t ignore him, as he often did. 

Jim stopped. He turned around, eyebrows quirked up, and Sebastian realized, with a sinking feeling of stupidity, that he wasn't supposed to ask permission. Jim just expected him to do it. 

Sebastian wanted to fade into the shower tiles right about then. Until Jim got a pleased grin on his face. 

“You’re unusual,” Jim said. It sounded like a compliment. 

“You can wash off,” Jim allowed. “But I’m watching.” 

Sebastian rose from the shower, switching on the water. It fell icily over him, but his skin felt hot under the scrutiny of Jim’s gaze. He couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Whatever you like,” Sebastian said. “I’ll put on a show for you, if you want.” 

He felt spoiled. This whole situation still felt like one prolonged wet dream, but somehow he’d managed to snag Jim’s attention for at least ten more minutes. 

“Yes, Moran,” said Jim, and once again he pronounced his two heavy, world-bearing words: “I want.” 


End file.
